The Emancipation of Heaven's Court
Disclaimer: I own nothing save for what rattles around in my rather warped imagination.
Author's Note: THIS IS NOT A DEATH FIC!!! I will never kill off the boys or any character that has not died on the show already.
Author's Note 2: I had a reviewer ask when Dean's heart problems started, I found I had to reread the story to remember exactly when it happened, chapter 23 is the one, just after Dean found out about Sam seizing after his MRI and becoming combatant lost in memories. Basically, Dean was not looking after himself as much as he should have, and with all of his own health issues and then the news about Sam it kind of set off a heart attack. Hope that this helps. ;0).
Author's Note 3: I would also just like to apologise for not answering reviews, I appreciate each and every one, I save them to my own files as well as here on FF. Life is just so hectic for me that I am having trouble just keeping up with updates and figure that they are more important than anything else. So here is a big {{{{{HUGS}}}}}} to all of my reviewers and {{{{HUGS}}}} to those who like to read and lurk, your presence is just as appreciated.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: BTK Just Another Day in the Life of Sammy Winchester ... Blind, Tortured and Kidnapped.
S—D
Bright lights.
Bright lights flood the area, blinding the blind.
Hands grappled.
Hands grappled, pulled, and twisted, adding to the torture.
Taken away.
Taken away from all he knew and those he loved, Kidnapped.
'Just another fuckingly brilliant day in the life of Sammy Winchester.' The bitter thought ran in his mind as he forced himself to stay still, silent and supple. With his thoughts caught in a constant loop he felt nothing. He was numb.
He felt them lift him.
The van had stopped suddenly causing him to slam against the wall of whatever they held him captive in. the van doors slammed open and he felt them physically manoeuvre the container out and then lift him from it. He felt them drop him onto a narrow metal table.
Bright lights assaulted him, even with his blindness he felt the radiance he so wanted to close his eyes but then with a derisive silent snort he realised that he didn't know whether they were open or closed.
'Just another fuckingly brilliant day in the life of Sammy Winchester.'
He shivered with his nakedness.
The silence unnerved him, through him off kilter a little, nothing new there, they were expert now in unnerving him. The ever-present cruel hands were there, cutting off his clothing, unconsciously he shivered with his sudden nakedness.
He forced himself to concentrate on what he could hear, not the despondent thought looping in his mind, no, he wanted to hear what was happening around him. He could hear the squeak of rubber soled shoes on the floor, a well polished linoleum tiled floor perhaps? A trolley clanking and groaning stopped near his left ear, the wheels needed oiling of that he was sure.
Hands covered with latex gloves gripped the sides of his head forcing him still, the nauseating smell of the latex gloves tickled his nose and stirred the bile in his stomach.
His eyes taped shut.
He heard the scratching sound of paper tape tearing across metal teeth and his breathing hitched slightly when he felt a finger push his eyelid closed. Okay so his eyes were open, the random thought pushed its way into his looped thoughts.
Why would they tape his eyes closed? He was blind afterall.
They removed his gag.
They removed his gag but before he could register the fact that his mouth was now free, a gloved finger smeared a thick viscous fluid over his lower lip, and then another gloved finger grasped his chin and forced his mouth closed.
The shock registered slowly in the looping thoughts of his mind, mixing and morphing into nonsensical words. 'Fuckingly brilliant, dumb, deaf, blind, glued mouth shut, naked, dead.'
The silence screamed at him.
The silence, sudden and surreal screamed at him, he no longer heard the sounds of shoes on the linoleum tiles, or the groaning metal of the trolley, nothing. He felt like his head was in a vice, slowly, ever so slowly, squeezing until he was sure it was going to explode.
Seconds, minutes, hours, time ticked by.
He had no idea how long he lay on the metal table, naked, silenced, and effectively blinded twice. He drew harsh breathes through his nostrils flaring them slightly as he tried to calm himself, what were they waiting for?
Sloshing water brought a calming relief to his tortured mind. At least he was no longer alone even though it was probably one of his very effective and efficient tormentors. Latex gloved hands slid over his sensitive flesh, he felt the warmth of water sluiced over his body. He caught a slight scent of anti-septic soap, they were washing him from head to toe, just like they wash the dead.
But he was not dead.
He wanted to scream, to rant, to force them to admit that he was still alive, kicking, and breathing, but all he could do was lie there unable to move, to speak, to blink effectively dead. A living corpse.
His head ached.
After the washing, once again was the now familiar silence. He was almost happy to welcome it. It gave him respite. It gave him time to try and unloop his thoughts, to get them in order. He was not a slab of meat, he was a man. Fuck it all he was a Winchester.
Finally, they return.
With a growing sense of dread he felt a hand ghost over his face, no gloves this time just bare flesh, tracing over his bare flesh.
The acidic stench of an alcoholic swab hit his nose and made it twitch the only outward sign of life shown since his arrival. He twitched his nose.
He felt the brief, minute flare of burning on the crook of his elbow from the swab and he resigned himself to the fact that they intended on drugging him once again. Perhaps this time it will be for good?
The sharp prick of the needle piercing his sensitive flesh barely registered in his dimming thoughts. Resignation was complete, he accepted his fate.
The only words he heard as he felt his mind, body, and soul close down were: 'Time of death 10:15am.'
Roughly they clothed him, if you could call a pair of sweats and a tee-shirt with no underwear, and no footwear clothing him.
'How long will it last?'
'Long enough to get him back to the Master's lair.'
'It will be passable?'
'Yeah worked last time.'
'Shame we couldn't play with him before ...'
'yeah I know but we got a flight to catch, remember we're the bereaved family of Samuel Verechiel.' The laughter echoed around the mortuary as they dropped him into the plain pine coffin and sealed it tightly.
S—D
The airline crew watched with the appropriate respect and sadness as they watched the sealed coffin slid into the cargo hold of the jet. They had read the paperwork, twenty-five year old male, car accident victim, returning home to Australia for burial.
All agreed it was a tragic waste of such a young life.
S—D
The jet eased into a perfect landing at Sydney's international airport in the midst of a severe rain and electrical storm. Relieved crew and passengers disembarked and hurried into the customs area. A covered wagon whizzed through the puddles and pulled up alongside the cargo hatch, the coffin made the transition from plane to wagon without a hitch. The crew escorted it to the special hold in customs, rain spattered on the pine coffin, but the interior remained dry protecting the occupant from the weather.
Two hours later a grieving family claimed the body of Samuel Verechiel, a hearse laden with the coffin pulled away into the wild night, amidst the rain, lightening, thunder, and the squalling winds heralded the return of the young man to Australia.
S—D
Awareness came slowly.
Awareness came slowly to the young man lying in the centre of the large bed; minute twitching of his fingers and toes the only signs. The next sign of awareness was the muffled moan from deep within his throat.
Pain ricocheted through his body.
His breathing hitched as pain ricocheted through his body, an agonising tingling filled his extremities, while a blinding and nauseating headache exploded behind his eyes.
A frown creased his forehead.
A frown creased his forehead heralding the opening of white-filmed eyes, flickering side to side unseeingly. He wanted to cough, to retch and expel the foul fluids pooling deep in his stomach but he couldn't open his mouth.
A soft mewling replaced his moans, his awareness now complete.
Hands assaulted his over-taxed senses, he felt them as they examined his upper body, and then he felt something dribble over his mouth, it burnt and brought tears to his sightless eyes. Gentle hands massaged his lips, carefully prying them apart, he turned his head towards the touch, desperately needing tenderness.
The hands continued to work on opening his mouth, the glue like substance bubbled away as soon as they poured the solvent over it. For the first time in a long time he could open his mouth, loud gasping hacking sounds filled the room as he took deep breathes and started to hyperventilate.
As he struggled to breath, anonymous hands gripped his shoulders and helped him sit upright, holding him in a comforting embrace, his over-taxed psyche and fragmented mind latched onto the tiny piece of kindness as he fought to calm his breathing.
'Dean.' He finally breathed out before the darkness claimed him once more.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know that this is a short chapter, and that there is no Dean but it was all intentional and I promise that Dean will be back in the next chapter. Not far to go till the end...hmmm